


Django/Calvin Drabbles

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Django Unchained (2012)
Genre: Anal Play, Biracial, Bondage, Cock Bondage, Drabble, Explicit Sexual Content, Ficlet, Fingerfucking, Food Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Object Insertion, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Racial Bigotry, Racial Perversion, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just something to pass time & a bunch of drabbles leading to an Alternate Ending sequence.<br/>*Updated Tags*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE!

‘Curiosity’

Surely that was all Calvin knew he was sure about when referring to Django Freeman. He was positive the man was no ordinary working hand knuckling down hand and knee despite his ‘freedom’ for the dubious Doctor King Schultz, yet liking in equal measure both men, one for his smooth rhetoric which flowed like the South’s smoothest bourbon, and the other’s gullet which spewed dizzying negro jargon as pissed and uncouth as whiskey. 

He enjoyed the company of both men for all they were worth, because each to his own was a reason in itself What he was worth, and both breed of men were hard to come by in the days numbered by how many a negro was sold, stolen or worked to death. As he noticed within the first few moments of Noticing Django apart from the other slaves, he saw the man hardly batting an eyelash whilst first laying eyes on the common bloodsport known only to the men built for brawling and the spectators lining their pockets with a couple thousands in silver dollars. 

Django glanced, he daren’t stand too long with a distaste for something he thought he was higher above. 

Calvin Candie could never say he was a man so easily surprised, now if the surprise were one as dastardly as a negro riding on horse back, Django was another matter. He was a Handsome, bootlicking, turncoat negro riding on horseback, and who would be accompanying him to Candieland. 

Calvin liked the sound of the train of his own realization, he glanced back once or twice, watching Django ride figure-8’s around the tethered congregation of working negroes, those they all considered lower than themselves. He caught the other’s eyes once or twice, not directly on his own, but most assuredly in no other general direction to others surrounding him. 

He felt a little honored, nothing more than something to be secretly proud of himself for, he chuckled, seeing things differently for the first time since his plantation hit the monetary strides of kings. He felt like whistling, yet still did the questioning and inputting of Doctor King Schultz seem at no foreseeable end. All this bidding which should have been his specialty and an entertaining pastime was now testing his calmly-collected wits, since just one glance and two horses behind was a treat to behold, another man as such commanding beast and human purely through right. 

If this were an argument of a species superior, he was certain to buy the man’s employment if not complete servitude in his service, after all: Django would not leave Candieland without saying properly a ‘Goodbye’. 

Doubtlessly, Django had the upper hand in the argument.


	2. Drabble #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many events lead to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE!!
> 
> ALL DIALOGUE BELONGS TO TARANTINO'S 'DJANGO UNCHAINED'  
> -NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGMENT INTENDED-

D’Artagnan’s screams were of great pained howls, bellowing and shouts in great breaths, his voice crackling as he ran out of air, the dogs dealt fresh pain one after the other and in equal measure. Calvin felt as if the pope himself were blessing this sacrifice, one big black sheep given to the hellhounds to wash the world of it’s sins, he looked aside to his henchmen, Billy grinning ear to ear like shit were smearing his face, many of the men hooted and were ready to jig as if the screams were drunken notes to a hoedown ditty. The negroes stood stark still, their eyes red and brimming with hate for their master, their fists clenching and arm muscles tight in anger, their legs rooted to the spot and tense to run or to stay and tear the dogs off of D’Artagnan’s shredded remains. The most surprising of all was Doctor Schultz turning away and holding his hand over his mouth in disgust. 

Calvin strode past everything until he was face to face with Django, their standings differing since the freed man was still situated in his saddle, only the horse seemed to be the most moved of the pair, it’s hooves unsteady and eyes rimmed white with fear. Django kept the composure of a corpse during their own funeral, he only tightened the reins so the horse would keep still, Calvin glanced back over to the Doctor, none to surprised that the German was still hunched away in the buggy and gagging on and on over a dying Mandingo fighter. 

The plantation master chuckled all too clearly enough that his words carried plainly over the dying shrieks, “Your boss looks a little green around the gills.” 

“He just ain't used to seein' a man ripped apart by dogs is all,” Django simply answered, while finally taking his eyes off the happening, 

Calvin nearly crawled over the saddle to get a better look behind those blackened specs, he wanted badly to see if Django was a weak-livered man liberated of his owner’s will, he only leaned more over Django’s left flank, “But you are used to it?” 

“I'm just a little more used to Americans than he is,” came the answer. 

Django dared not to glance back or show the clench in his teeth he held since watching the dogs being sicced unto D’Artagnan. The entire congregation moved, they were once again riding-or-marching across a secret road to Candyland, walking negroes which were stride him gave him glares promising revenge, one far more revolting and perverse than a pack of guard dogs mauling him to death, he understood the hate boiling until it seeped out of every word and action, his action was to escape with Broomhilda, unsuccessfully. 

Dwelling too far on depression further made him recall his own shame of how his wife had to bear Both of their scars, and the slave’s eyes burning into him did no good calming him down, he snapped out of spite, “Whutchu lookin at?” 

“Nothin’,” the walking negro cast down his eyes to the places far ahead and to the back of Master Candie’s head, he marched on with piss and vinegar still running through his veins.

Django urged his horse Tony forward in a canter so as to make his mark and a lasting impression on Candie’s henchmen, “I'm worse than any of these white men here! You get the molasses out your ass, and you keep your goddamn eyeballs off me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i feel like an ungrateful shit: :P
> 
> Thank you theyellowbeetle, 30_rock_office (Mrs_Don_Draper) & anonymous readers~!!! ...for kudos! (XD)
> 
> as you can remember, not all the dialogue is 100% correct, i boobtubed (youtube) the whole thing through TV spots & movie trailers to get it right.


	3. An Inappropriate Conversation for an Inappropirate Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all original dialogue & too much enthusiasm

Riding the buggy with a placid expression and the talkative Doctor King Schultz sitting just across was no comfort, but Django was a more silent colleague betwixt Calvin Candie’s hired men, hell, the only thing he remembered hearing from the riding ‘Gatekeeper of Doctor Schultz’s funds’ were a select few and still very clear bona fide rebuttals to several arguments. Hence, victory in tongue-lashings were not to the absolute pleasure of Django Freeman, but the Factuality, and the clearly withheld hostility in his choice of words, Billy was sure one of those men who did not let unpleasant words slide. Being a rare and wholly welcomed guest to Candieland was sure a reason enough to keep Billy from ending up with far worse a hurt than sarcastic statements. 

If only there were more than one way to please Django…

The thought at first sounded as platonic as signing cotton over to buyers, all meaning of nonphysical alliance with Doctor Schultz and his butler-cum-Mandingo-Fighter-expert since he was in fact referring to quite the specimen of quite possibly the most problematic of sexual intricacies, more than likely something he may have no control over were he to spend a few leisure hours tinkering with Django. Firstly, there was the fact that he was a Seller playing a show for the Buyer and at the same time trying to win the solid trust of the budgetary curator, which was one bastard of an difficult lock to open. Secondly, Django was a free man, there was no way buying him, his loyalty nor…the very Last thing a freed slave would do is Sell himself to a White plantation master. Thirdly, the plantation manor on Candieland was Always under no circumstance ever void of nosy souls, from his own hired hands to the ones’ he bought, there was No privacy! 

Lastly, he was bred to be a beast-… he was Raised to be an ‘evenhanded’ master over his land and to his laborers alike. 

And Finally before he could get ahead of himself in his own head with the Mandingo expert, there was a matter with Lusting after a man. 

What then? ‘Lust’, yes, that step was already covered one day preceding, but what does a man with the aforementioned ‘lust’ Do next? 

The plantation master shifted in his seat all the while nodding or making casual remarks to Doctor Schultz’s small talk, there was the act of pleasing himself which was fairly straightforward: whilst after attaining an erection, it had to have a hole accompanied by an inevitable orgasm. Yet, there was a lingering suspicion of how a male achieves the aforementioned state by penetration… 

“Well, Doctor, I myself am a descendant of an Acadian settler,” Calvin added to the conversation politely, not that there was a track to be kept of the endeavor since he last recalled, Doctor Schultz was doing all the talking of travels and slave trading down in the Orleans port for ‘fresh catch’, “Candieland here is passed down from generations on to generations, and finally landing in the blissful lap of moi.” 

Doctor Schultz’s mouth thoughtfully quirked into a smile as if pleasantly surprised by the news, he asked just as politely, “Oh? I’m sure the local cancan dancers cannot thank you enough for introducing them to your homeland amusement.” 

“Well, the French excel in the latest of fashion, and maybe the most delectable of cuisines you’ve ever tasted,” the plantation master felt a glow of Cajun pride for being so keen of his French-rooted family tree, including all the sweet Southern peaches like his Lara Lee and the bucktooth bumpkin Nuts like Billy Crash, a slight half-spoken rise and fall of Doctor Schultz’s clasped hands told another story of the Candie’s proud history, “There was something far more marvelous I haven’t mentioned, Doctor?” 

Doctor Schultz shook his head with that same grin he had been wearing since they first met pied-à-terre on Louisiana’s busiest occupational avenue, the German practitioner finally said without giving a thought for pause, “Oh, everything great and lovely you’ve mentioned, except…please take no offense.” 

Calvin put his ivory pipette to his lips, sensing a certain earnest for an answer which he seemed to provide, there was no question bordering the dangerous for a man who bought his own protection, again he answered for the sake of interest and the sense of a good host, “It must be one Hell o’ an invention, Doctor. Come now, let’s not keep it a secret.” 

The Doctor’s infectious joy only seemed to spread being that he was lucky enough that his host was a civilized man with an appreciation for sparkle and satire, hardly able to hold himself from chuckling, Doctor Schultz spoke articulately and clear, “Fellatio.” 

“On the theme of cancan girls, Doctor, take none offense if I ask you this-” Calvin knew he was Finally getting somewhere now while their conversation was steered into a more Interesting direction, he inquired without moving a muscle, “The hind end must be a tempting sacrilege, ain’t it?” 

Django must have heard, because just at his right shoulder there was the sound of leather making an audible crushing squeak, therefore illustrating how Someone must have shifted in their saddle at the opportune moment, and if Calvin Candie looked over his right shoulder, he knew he would be met with the first priceless expression the Mandingo Expert had made in the past two days, as he glanced, the other man quickly looked away and pranced on forward with Tony. 

“Taking my lover from the derrière…sounds enough like marital business, Mister Candy,” Doctor Schultz shook his head as a father does when asked to bring back a child’s dead pet, he added, “As it is a matter with law and church.” 

“Unless the rectum had teeth, Mister Candy, my expertise remains with oral cavity,” Doctor Schultz continued to explain with his very own controversy on the subject, “Or as far as my knowledge goes. Tempting, yes. Ethical? Hardly can the word be used, sir. I have not the Slightest clue why any and Every other cavity may be defiled, yet why Not the derrière? Since it is Hardly the most manageable of bodily openings, why in God’s name not, Mister Candy?” 

“Doctor, I done no wrong except inquire to have my curiosity cured, you have yourself a point. Why I asked is I’ve been thinking to ream the mistress of the Voix Céleste,” Calvin leaned back further taking in the idea and key points suggesting his will over Manifest Destiny to the point of swallowing Django whole, he was not exactly lying when speaking of the infamous mistress, he was in fact one of her frequent patrons, and he Had done the deed with taking advantage of her greed and willingness so as to experience and hone his knowledge of humping a woman’s ass, fondly enough he recalled, “That woman…she could ride the leather off a saddle at the drop of a rusty penny, if you catch my drift.” 

“Legs like reeds, breasts like rosebud-tipped pillows and a face like my dearest Lara Lee,” the plantation master drew his pipette in, puffed a salutation to Voix Céleste’s mistress of ill repute and his little sister, the beautiful Lara Lee, “A true lady in every which a’ way she is.” 

From there, there was another tussle erupting somewhere at the back, possibly a blistered heel spoiling the whole bunch in the march, and Calvin did not care to turn back for a few fallen negro, but he did to watch Django ride straight faced at the same pace as the buggy, not a single twitch on that negro’s motionless face was at all evident of anything other than Strict Business. Tugged from the usual banter back into another which was solely his own, the plantation master only had the entire ride to wonder in What manner Django would respond to his attention if there were any made, and he was again certain the man deprived of affection, -mostly for the fact due to his ethnicity and differentiating ways- and Lacking human contact of the Recreational sort. Per se, would the affections be met with hostility or with wide eyes or with open arms or neither? 

Then something inside snapped. 

As twisted as it was to dwell on impure and unexplored areas drawing lines between civilized and savagery, he had to wonder… How would he Ever propose such a thing, especially when one has all the reasons in the world to despise him for What and Who Calvin Candie was? Easy, do not tell, just Do. 

First there was a matter with restraining Django were this encounter to turn into a massacre on the hour of eternal infamy, he would get the man stewing with bourbon…no, a drunk man was too impersonal, he wanted the Mandingo Expert sober and in tip top shape. So sober he would be. Again in regards of restraint…shackles would imply ownership, resulting in more of a resistance, yet he wanted the man to Respect him, but respect did not come without the price of Fear…what is personal, sensual and confusing all at the same time? Ah! So then began a mental succession of events by which he played out his fancy: 

-tbc- sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote a short, weak Django/Calvin smut before this (limit: 1 smut per 12 hours)


	4. ...And so Begins the Madness...

Imagination proved a helpful tool when lust for the same sex got out of hand for Calvin Candie. 

He first allowed a place to materialize inside his mind, a place such as the public platforms where slave-sales are made. Possibly two or three spectators. Hell, the Whole town shows up to see what all the hoo-hah’s all about, there will be only Django standing on the platform, fully-scratch that- Naked as the good Lord intended. 

The market is alive with bids as the seller walks Django out from a cage, his body perspiring and tense and his wrists chained to his elbows, all eyes seem as if to drift from his handsome face to his flaccid cock hanging limply between his thighs. Even then, Calvin is sure he wants this man all to himself. 

“This young negro, here; a Fresh catch, ladies and gentlemen!” the seller shouts above the already-roused crowd, Django bares his teeth and fights against the metal collar fixed to his neck and the muzzle fitted around his face, the merchant adds after he hands off Django’s leash to a helper, “A live one, here, ladies and gentlemen! Well-bred and ready to work!” 

Calvin watched as Django was yanked and jerked to the very center of the auction block, his legs spread and chest thrust outward to the delight of the crowd, the merchant continued to shout and brag of the bound man’s talents, “He’s young! He’s strapping! He’s built for your plantations, ladies and gentlemen!” 

Django fought to cross his legs in attempt to hide his privates, only succeeding in swinging his penis, there was an apparent interest in the crowd, a desire hard to ignore and also just as difficult to act upon, the caller howled into the anxious mob buzzing with deviant gossip, “Who wants this healthy specimen of labor!” 

Calvin approached the block, his cane making the occasional click and clack upon the packed cobblestone street, the dark wild eyes instantly drew to his own, once reaching the actual platform, he lit his ivory pipette and drew in a breath, exhaling, he looked Django up and down, circling the handsome tethered negro. 

He spoke to the auctioneer at voice-level since long ago had the whispering subsided and became nothing but a silent hum of disapproval,   
“Fresh Catch you say, vendor?” 

The seller quickly answered, “Of course. Negro was just caught yesterday, Monsieur Candie.” 

Calvin stuck his ivory pipette to dangle between his lips and ran his cane smoothly up Django’s leg from his ankles to his hanging testicles, he poked at the flaccid length as the dark legs closed around his walking stick, he asked with more interest, “Young you say, vendor?” 

“At his body’s prime, Monsieur Candie.” 

Candieland’s plantation master slid his cane out easily from the muscled thighs, he stroked the smooth crack of Django’s ass, “Strong you say, vendor?” 

“As an ox, Monsieur Candie.” 

The plantation master swept his gloved forefinger from the naked testicles up to Django’s spine, watching as the ass cheeks compacted wonderfully to his prodding, he inquired half out of thought, “Healthy you say, vendor?” 

The seller came up to the pair nodding, “One of a kind, Monsieur Candie.” 

Calvin turned to the seller as he took his ivory pipette out from between his teeth, exhaling the smoke with his words, he cradled Django’s entire sexual organ, “Then why in the hell ain’t his pecker working?” 

“My-! My apologies, Monsieur Candie-!” the merchant stuttered his plea, the plantation master soundly backhanded the sniveling man. 

“Don’t,” Calvin allowed once more to dangle his ivory pipette between his frowning lips, he then gave an order much to the tethered commodity’s vexation, “Want to see a master do a vendor’s job? Give me some grapes and a vial of gun-grease.” 

The vendor instantly dug inside his pockets and found just those very items which Calvin requested, though this was a fantasy, Calvin decided not to add logic since it was in fact his own mind at work constructing his fancy without the usual setbacks of the actual world. 

“Merci, you clumsy gelding,” Calvin heard himself say as he took the items from the shaking hands, he dabbed his gloved fingers with the gun oil and whispered to the gagged Django, “Now, do I have a name for this cock I’m about to stroke?” 

The dark eyes narrowed as they met his wondering gaze, he pushed first a forefinger into the dry pucker, and heard a ragged inhale accompany as he withdrew to dab more oil unto his finger, this time slicking up three as he descended. 

“Suit yourself,” Calvin mumbled around his ivory pipette, his fingers ventured downward, across a jutting tailbone and nestling snugly between the meaty cheeks, he pushed in his forefinger. 

Django and the crowd held their collective breaths as he took his pipette with his free hand to exhale, he stood a moment just to allow the eyes to take apart Django, strip him down more naked than he had ever been, parting each dark feral layer until there stood before their very virgin scrutiny a negro madly blushing and unable to suppress his rage, his discomfort, his overpowering shame of the finger up his ass and his sphincter unable to stop fluttering around the single digit. Calvin blew smoke at Django’s ear, allowing the smell to permeate him and cling to his sweat-salted skin, the plantation master hummed his approval of the untouched areas his finger ventured, he withdrew his finger once more and motioned the nervous salesman over with his soiled finger. 

Once joining Calvin Candie, the salesman stood wide-eyed to an indifferent request, “If you mind, vendor, kneel down before your product, reach around, and spread his ass open.” 

Django thrashed about, an angered rumbling inside his throat gagged by the leather and metal shoved between his teeth, heat rose in his cheeks as he felt the vendor go down on his knees to obey Calvin, he leaned away with all his might until the plantation master swatted his ass with the cane. Along both cheeks, the impact was instant leaving a throbbing sting that seemed as if to pulse warmly with his heartbeat, which was now knocking inside his chest before he noticed a change in his body or his heavy breathing, Django bit off a shout, now more than ever, he was angry for both strangers, White men no less, poking and pulling his ass. 

Calvin smacked his cane just above the previously laid ribbon crossing Django’s cheeks, he waved the salesman to proceed, which the seller did: kneeling before Django and for the first time appreciating the iron tethers binding Django’s legs apart and his arms and wrists together, he slowly, shakily encircled the bound quarry with his arms, his hands inching over the muscular cheeks, once getting an uneasy grip on the stiff mounds, he parted the cheeks and awaited Calvin’s next move. 

Django, himself, felt all eyes on his body, many trained on his face which was giving away his angry shame, on his hardening nipples, on his tensing abdomen and shoulders, on the sweat pouring off his skin and Calvin who looked down, inspecting the very inner crevice of his ass crack. Were the negro untied and free, he would have tore the perpetrators and all who watched to pieces, but he sadly accepted himself at their mercy, though not hardly won, he was indeed measured by the visual pleasure he could bring them and the mystery of his far-off ancestry he could evoke to make his own sale more likely. 

Calvin watched mesmerized of the very inward pucker both slick, firmly shut and dribbling gun oil, he pulled from his pocket the very grapes he had requested, and more for show and his own benefit, he huffed unto the skin and shined the little sucker up on his coat. With his tongue made into a funnel, he worked up a spit deep from inside his throat and collected the constant moisture inside his mouth, he pushed the bubbly mixture with his front teeth unto the gleaming fruit nestled innocently in his fingers. Once satisfied with his handiwork, the plantation master reached down with his soiled hand gently pinching the saliva-sopped grape and with his left thumb placed on Django’s lower sphincter, he guided the tiny fruit in. 

Where it should have slid in without a hitch, he tender fruit popped and splattered it’s juices and pulp over Calvin’s fine shoes, he gave the ‘oh well’ shrug and said over Django’s heaving shoulders, “A little wider if you so mind, vendor.” 

The man on his knees complied and stretched Django’s ass apart, showing even more of the hidden crevice to Calvin, the tethered man wiggled his hips side to side wildly to get the salesman off him, and sure enough, the salesman slipped without a grip, he fell forward into Django’s naked crotch. Calvin noticed a great change in the man he was sampling, he found the slave more or less unable to hold back a deep teeth-gritted moan, he glanced up front for what seemed to change the man’s pace in resistance and saw a scene that made his cock stir: 

Django’s half-hard length lay across the salesman’s chin and face, the salesman pulled back after feeling a hot weight against his face, Calvin took him behind the neck and pulled him back to where he was previously situated, he commanded, “Stay right there, he likes it.” 

“Well, get back on ‘em cheeks also, I can’t exactly do this Myself now. Calvin Candie don’t have All the hands in the world to help him,” he impatiently growled against Django’s ear, he licked the dark skin over the border of his ear as hands bathed in a cold sweat inched up along his shaking thighs. Calvin again stepped back to witness the ring of muscle being revealed to him, his eyes devouring and his tongue tossing inside the bone-cage of his teeth, his tongue darted out to lick his upper lip as he thought to himself, ‘Yes, there we are…’ 

With another grape, he pressed it against the already-wet opening, he pushed in yet sneered all the more as he watched the nether lips crush the fragile grape within it’s sure-to-be-hell-grip. Calvin again ordered the flimsy salesman, “Wider.” 

Slightly gaping now in it’s pulled-apart state, Calvin put his pipette back into his mouth as he smiled with his teeth, the hand of his right fingers pushing in another unmarred grape, again to his dismay it popped before it even slipped in halfway. This time he shoved in his forefinger and middle finger into the bruised nether lips, allowing his fingers to be softly crushed and pulsed against as he went along his merry way searching for the button he knew was inside. He flexed and twisted his fingers around until he watched as Django’s hips lurch forward, a strained cry whining like an injured wheeze from inside his chest, he pressed once more the pads of his gloved fingers against a slightly raised softness below Django’s navel. 

Again there was that inner slap pouring the sensations of marching ants and water choking his body to life in it’s waves, once more the crowd ‘oooh-ed’ and ‘aaaah-ed’ to the blush he tried to mask with his snarling, only making himself appear as a cornered animal, an injured fighting dog unable to resist the pull of his master’s loving attention. Calvin spread his fingers against the beautiful tightness encircling his enveloped digits, he then with his left hand pushed in a grape, finally unable to pop the intrusion upon entry, Django felt the grape as his body swallowed it within him, the round object neither painful nor bothersome, yet it nuzzled directly on the part Calvin was finger-teasing earlier. 

He attempted at pushing it out only to feel another being pushed into his body, and another, and another, soon he was full with a gentle weight rolling with his every movement and inner muscle spasm. Satisfied with his endeavor, Calvin took a silk ribbon from his pocket and wrapped the base of Django’s hard cock once and in a figure-8 around his tight testicles, and altogether around both organs until the swollen cock stood straight up against the shivering navel and balls jutting forward under the standing cock, making the pressure of Django’s orgasm all the more unbearable and heavy within his balls. 

The folks unable to speak when the salesman’s face was pulled off Django’s semi-hard cock, the man stood up and began shouting prices only to which Calvin was determined to Not be beat at All costs, and upon finally settling on four wonderful acres of liquidated Candie property, Calvin took Django by the collar and led him down the steps to an awaiting carriage, Calvin said to the driver, “Antoine, to Candieland we shall ride.” 

“Yessir, Mister Candie,” the colored manservant said while snapping the horses into motion with the bridals, once mobile, Calvin took undid Django’s chains except for the restraints on his cock, he asked while relighting his ivory pipette with a new cigarette, “Have you a name?” 

“Dango,” a rich voice whispered into the fragrant air. 

“Django-” Calvin sampled in his un-southern lilt, he smiled a little too menacingly to the stoically flushed face, “-you’ll have a Great deal of fun in Candieland, Django.” 

No matter how much Calvin scolded himself for his aimless wanderings, he found himself hard from his own fantasy and barely able to hide the hardness in his pants by laying his hands descreetely over the erect appendage. His mind then decided to work up an image more intimate, less dreadful than the previous:

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn't cute or even close...i'm sorry for being serious about this, I'm not Tarantino!  
> he's way more awesome :3


End file.
